


Attack

by Twist_Witch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Possessive Derek, Self Harm, Sexual Tension, The Alpha Pack, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twist_Witch/pseuds/Twist_Witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are panic attacks a curse...or a gift? </p>
<p>Trigger warnings for panic anxiety and self harm!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attack

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started writing this fic last night to keep away a panic anxiety attack and ironically, it worked really well. Then I started to actually care what happened and before I knew it, the first chapter was done. I should probably warn you now that I'm in the middle of finals and super stressed (hence the panic attack) so the updates will be irregular. 
> 
> Many of the tags are for later chapters and more will probably be added, if you have any tag suggestions, please feel free to mention them ^^
> 
> Also, I'll say it again in case anyone skipped the summary and tags:  
> TRIGGER WARNING, PEOPLE! This story has descriptions of panic anxiety attacks and self harm. Hurting yourself is never a good solution to keep anxiety attacks away, at least not in the long term. Please just trust me on this one.

The thing about panic attacks is that you never really know when to expect them, at least not until after years of practise. You learn your triggers pretty quickly but when you do learn them and start avoiding them, they change because they’re not actually the cause of the panic, they’re just your brain’s excuse for flipping the insanity switch. For Stiles, a panic attack can be triggered by something or it can come randomly with no warning. One moment, he’s lying in his bed, sitting at his desk or reading a book and thinking about what prank he should play on Derek next time he sees him, and the next, the walls are closing in, reality is slipping away and he’s drowning, _dying_. The worst part is the fear. Maybe drowning or losing his mind or even dying wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for that cold panic that pumps into his bloodstream with every frantic heartbeat. At least he’s learned not to scream. You’d think it would help to scream and let all the fear out but it only makes it worse, as if the panic is feeding on itself and it will also alert his dad and then there will be concern and attempted comfort and hugs. He can’t stand being hugged when he’s having a panic attack, can barely stand being touched at all. Back when his mom died, he was sent to a nice woman in an office with soft chairs and warm yellow wallpaper who didn’t speak to him like a child and who taught him how to handle the uncontrollable fear and how to pay attention to his heart rate and his breathing. She taught him how to stop an attack in it’s tracks just by breathing, long before it even got to the point where he felt the need to scream and when he left her office for the last time, he was confident that he had it all under control. Stiles wishes he could go back in time and slap himself upside the head because when has anything really bad ever just gone away? Every morning when he wakes up, his mom is still dead, his dad’s cholesterol levels are still bordering on dangerous and Lydia Martin still treats him like a mildly disgusting bug, so why did he ever expect the fear to go away? Ever since werewolves turned out to be real, he’s felt that dark cloud growing in the back of his mind but there’s just been too much to do, too many emergencies and no time to listen to his body or make sure he practises his breathing exercises. So the first time he has a full blown panic attack, he’s not completely surprised since he’s known it was coming for some time. It’s the night after the incident at the police station and he’s lying in his bed, almost asleep when he suddenly remembers the sensation of being paralyzed by kanima venom and listening to the sound of hissing and the clicking of a gun. The feeling just pours over him out of nowhere, like ice water down his spine or an electric shock and before he even realizes what’s happening, he’s screaming into his pillow and his dad is there with his awkward hugs that only suffocate and Stiles can’t stop screaming for a full ten minutes. Ten minutes seems like such a short time but if you spend every second of them drowning, it actually feels more like ten hours. Afterwards, when his voice is hoarse and his throat is sore, he lets himself be hugged and tucked in, lets himself be given a cup of tea with honey to soothe his vocal chords and even lets his dad talk him into staying home from school the following day. He spends the day alone, brushing his teeth at least ten times to get the flavour of his mother’s favourite tea out of his mouth because the taste is almost enough to trigger another attack. He doesn’t want to know why his dad still has it, since neither of them drink tea regularly. 

After that first time, he learns to hide the panic attacks. Somehow he manages not to outright scream but just whimper, and if he buries his face in his pillow or in the crook of his arm, it won’t be very loud. It always happens when he’s alone so he tries to surround himself with people as much as possible but he doesn’t have much of a social life outside of Scott and the lacrosse bench, unless you count the occasional visit from Derek that inevitably ends with Stiles thrown into a wall or having his head smashed against a steering wheel, so he still ends up with a lot of alone time and it usually happens at night when he’s trying to sleep. His pillow is really becoming his new best friend, especially since Scott seems to be around less and less. The attacks themselves are usually short, there’s a burst of mind numbing fear, some whimpering and maybe a shattered glass or a broken pencil and then it’s over, but in between them is the general anxiety that sits in his stomach like an ice cube, slowly melting and trickling cold water into his veins. Stiles has found that the most effective way of ending a panic attack is through pain. It’s turned into an automatic reaction now, so instinctive that he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to and if he feels sick afterwards, so what? Sick is far better than drowning. It’s always the same, there’s that cold fear that detaches him from reality, the whimpering and then his own blunt nails digging into the flesh of his arms. He never would have thought short human nails could make such deep scratches. When he’s nauseous and trembling from adrenaline and his arms sting almost more than he can bear, that’s when he can sleep. The long sleeves are permanent these days and he prefers red or dark colours because it hides blood stains more easily. He doesn’t think of the scratching as self harm because he can’t really control it and therefore, he’s not really doing it to himself, it’s more like his body is doing it to itself and he’s not doing it because he really wants to hurt himself but because its the most effective way to reconnect with reality. In order to keep too sharp werewolf noses from sniffing out what they have no business knowing, he wears copious amounts of cologne and he learns to hate the smell and love the moment he gets to wash it off, just before going to bed. 

The triggers are usually connected to supernatural things, directly or indirectly. Thinking about the kanima’s claws in is his neck is sure to bring on an attack for an example, or about Peter Hale gripping his wrist and slowly bringing it up towards his lengthening fangs, or about the cold look in Gerard Argent’s eyes just before the first blow landed. The night after they find the sign of the alpha pack on Derek’s front door, Stiles has one of the worst attacks he’s ever had and he’s grateful that his dad has the night shift at the station because he can’t keep quiet, not even when with his nails buried so deep in his arms that the blood is actually dripping on the floor. It comes in waves and between them, he ‘s desperately trying to distract himself. Reading doesn’t work and neither does a long hot shower or listening to music. Action filled Playstation games work for about half an hour before he has to throw the controller across the room and dig his nails into his skin again. He’s sitting on the floor and leaning against the bed, hyperventilating and trying to stave off the next round of screaming for at least another five minutes when his window opens with a quiet click and Derek climbs in, covered in mud and with a streak of blood across his cheek. The sight of the werewolf doesn’t remove the anxiety completely but it helps him restrain it, at least for a little longer. He opens his mouth to speak and winces at how raspy and weak his voice is. It probably ruins his attempt to sound normal but he has to try.

“Derek? What the hell?” he’s proud of himself for doing a good impression of irritated, even though Derek can probably tell that it’s not sincere, can probably smell the fear. The werewolf is trailing mud all over the floor, his eyes are glowing a faint red and his chest is heaving, which is a little alarming since Stiles has almost never seen Derek out of breath. “Did you seriously just ninja yourself right through my second floor window?”

Derek just stares at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do and looking a little bit like he wants to jump back out into the night and disappear. Just when Stiles starts to panic at the thought of being left alone again, Derek shifts his weight and takes a step forward, further into the room. 

“It’s the alphas, three of them. I tried to shake them off, camouflage my scent with mud but I couldn’t get rid of them.”

“So...you came here to, what? Offer them a human for lunch so you can get a head start?” the anger in his voice is real. “I hope you don’t think I’ll protect you from them, because if you do, then you are about to become a prime example of how ‘the survival of the fittest’ works” Dark humour and sarcasm is always a good defence, a good way to distract his mind. His heart is still pounding, painfully loud.

“They won’t come in here.” Derek actually has the sense to pull off his shoes, carefully putting them in an already muddy spot. 

“Why wouldn’t they? You can’t be the only werewolf with enough ninja skills to get in through my window and even if you are, they could just use the door. Why didn’t you do that anyway?”

“I didn’t know if your dad would be home and neither do they which is why they won’t use the door or the window. They don’t want to be detected by humans so they won’t risk breaking into the sheriff’s house.” 

The stupid werewolf actually has the nerve to look a little smug.

“ And what about when they figure out he’s not here, huh? Did you even think of that? You’re just gonna get us both killed instead of only you, so thanks a lot!” Stiles can feel the ice melting in his stomach and filling his veins with cold water, slowly but surely and he needs to get Derek out before it hits him. If there’s one person he does not want to have a panic attack in front of, it’s definitely Derek Hale. 

“They won’t figure it out if you’ll just keep it down!” Derek hisses. “And besides, they don’t know his work schedule so for all they know he could be coming back any minute.” He throws his muddy jacket on top of his muddy shoes and slams the window shut with a bang. 

“Go away Derek. I don’t want to die with you.” Stiles makes the words as harsh and cold as he possibly can, curling his hands into fists and digging the nails into his palms. 

The werewolf’s eyes go from red to their usual green as, for the first time since entering the room, he actually looks at Stiles. Then they’re suddenly back to full glowing red and Stiles almost looks forward to being punched or slammed into a wall, anything for that sharp sting of pain that might chase away the fear pouring over him like a tidal wave and making him curl in on himself. He whimpers, even as he hates himself for losing it like this in front of Derek. The adrenaline blocks the pain but he can feel the skin peeling under his nails as they rake over his arms and all he loses his mind for a moment. When the stinging brings him back to reality again, he finds himself suddenly much closer to Derek than he was a minute ago. The alpha-red eyes are only inches from his own and he almost panics again when he realizes that there are strangely warm hands gripping both his wrists and keeping him from hurting himself. The touch makes him feel like he's suffocating. 

“Let go, let go of me, can’t breathe, LET GO!!” 

It’s no use thrashing of course but Stiles tries anyway. To his surprise, Derek doesn’t restrain his movements when he pulls his arms towards himself, the werewolf just follows until Stiles is effectively pinned against the side of the bed with Derek kneeling in front of him, almost straddling his lap. Being this caged should have him screaming again and the touch should be making his skin crawl but Stiles realizes suddenly that it doesn’t for some reason. His heartbeat is slowing down. He feels his mouth is open in surprise and quickly closes it, blinking.

“What the...?”

He wasn’t aware that Derek had any facial expressions other than murderous rage, death glare or sarcastic eye roll but it seems like he does, because right now the look on his face could actually be described as concerned. It’s probably a sign that Hell is about to freeze over. The hands holding Stiles’ wrists are getting even warmer and when he darts a glance at one of them, there are black lines snaking their way up over Derek’s wrists and arms, fading and appearing again and Stiles realizes that they’re pulsing in time with his heartbeat. This isn’t right though, he knows that werewolves can absorb pain but Derek is taking more than that somehow. The heat from his hands is drawing the ice water out of Stiles’ blood and replacing it with warmth, replacing the pain with calm. He hasn’t felt this calm in months. 

“What...what are you doing?” Now that his mind is no longer busy panicking, it kicks back into it’s usual ADHD mode, noticing random details as if they were important, like the way that Derek smells of blood and mud and forest and the way he’s almost sitting in Stiles’ lap in a way that would be kind of awkward if his dad were to walk in on them, and the streak of dried blood on Derek’s cheek and the way he-

“Is that better?” Gentle. Derek Hale just sounded gentle. Derek I’m-gonna-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth Hale just sounded gentle! It’s enough to make Stiles nervous in a gloriously normal and non-panicky way. 

“Uh...yeah, it’s...what _was_ that?” he tries to pull his hands away again but they’re still trapped. Derek doesn’t even need to squeeze to keep them in place. 

“It’s the reason why the alpha pack wants me. One of the reasons.” Derek sighs, looking away for a moment before meeting Stiles’ eyes again “The ability to absorb another person’s fear as well as their pain is...useful. If I’m in a pack, I only need to touch one member to affect everyone. It’s an unusual ability.”

The hands trapping his wrists are almost too hot now and the warmth pouring through him is making him a little dizzy so he tries to get his arms away again and Derek actually growls slightly. 

“Not done yet.” 

Stiles just smirks because he can do that now. 

“You know, intimidation isn’t really gonna work when you’re sucking up all the fear” 

Derek doesn't answer, he only growls again, squeezing Stiles' wrists slightly and Stiles is so very warm now and his vision is going a little blurry around the edges. It’s actually kind of nice to be this close to someone. Scott and he sometimes share brotherly hugs with plenty of back slapping and his dad will occasionally wrap him in a one armed embrace for just a moment before they’re both embarrassed by the lack of manliness they just displayed, but there’s never been anyone who touched him this effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Not since his mother died. Stiles freezes for a moment, expecting a wave of panic to be triggered by that thought but all that happens is that Derek’s hands hold a bit tighter for a moment. The werewolf’s palms are a little calloused and his hands are bigger than Stiles’, big enough to easily reach around Stiles’ wrists. His heart is beating almost calmly now, but there’s a new sensation coiling in his stomach, an awareness of the fact that he can feel Derek’s breath against his cheek and he doesn’t know how or when he does it, but he’s suddenly leaning in, his forehead bumping against Derek’s, close enough that Stiles can taste his breath. Out of nowhere, his brain provides him with a sudden, vivid vision in full surround sound of what it would be like to just lean in until their lips met. He hasn’t thought of Derek that way before, not because Derek isn’t attractive but because he’s, well...Derek. The man practically has a neon sign around his neck screaming ‘Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you!’. And even if he didn’t, he’d still be too old and too hot, too far out of Stiles’ league and besides, Stiles has always assumed that Derek was straight. But they’re so very close right now, and Derek doesn’t seem to mind it and if he does end up ripping Stiles’ throat out, well, at least he won’t die unkissed. Stiles acts quickly, not giving himself the time to think better of it. Derek’s lips are surprisingly soft, even with the hint of stubble surrounding them, and slightly parted. Stiles has time to think that maybe this was a bad idea when Derek makes a strange noise, half growl and half whine, and his tongue pushes against Stiles’, hot and wet. Kissing is not the way he imagined it would be. There are no fireworks, no bluebirds singing and no sudden urges to faint although he can’t be completely sure about the state of his legs since he’s sitting down, they could be going weak without him noticing it. So it’s not as earth-shattering as he’d expected but somehow it still feels like it should merit at least a 9 on the Richter scale. Derek is still holding his wrists and something about the way he’s being pinned down and kissed by a werewolf who now appears to be growling quietly against his mouth makes Stiles’ heart race in a way that has nothing to do with fear. A new kind of heat is flashing through him, making him strain towards Derek, making him gasp into the kiss...and then all the warmth is suddenly gone. Stiles only has a second to register that there’s a snarling, fully transformed alpha werewolf crouching in front of him protectively before his window shatters inwards and a woman lands on the floor with unnatural grace. She looks human enough except for the red glowing eyes of an alpha werewolf. Derek growls again, claws digging into the carpet, his body tense and ready to attack but the woman only grins, displaying two rows of perfectly flat human teeth that are somehow more terrifying than fangs. She’s barefoot and covered in mud and blood stains, her jeans and t-shirt are ripped nearly to shreds and the wild brown hair that almost reaches her waist is full of twigs and caked with blood in places. Her grin is bright and feral and she seems more like an animal in her human form than Derek does fully transformed. 

“Irina!” it’s surprising that Derek can actually form words with his mouth shaped like that, Stiles thinks, feeling unnaturally calm. 

The woman’s grin widens and her eyes move around the room, taking everything in until they finally settle on Stiles, making a tiny seed of unease take root in his stomach. He suspects he’d be babbling in panic right now if Derek hadn’t drawn out all his fear a moment ago.

“Derek” the woman, Irina, says with just a hint of growl in her voice “did you really think we wouldn’t follow you in here just because it’s the sheriff’s house?” she shakes her head and laughs, her eyes still on Stiles “And who have we here?”

Derek answers with a roar, his tail whipping back and forth, almost brushing against Stiles’ drawn up legs. There’s nothing Stiles can do and they’re probably both going to be dead in a minute but the strange calm is still there. He can understand why the alpha pack, or any pack for that matter, would want someone with Derek’s ability around. Being able to think clearly in the face of certain death might well end up saving you from said certain death and that is exactly what’s going to happen now. From Irina’s point of view, Stiles’ right arm is fully visible but the left one is hidden by Derek massive wolf form, so she doesn’t notice him slowly sneaking his hand in under the bed. It takes him a lot of willpower to bite back a smile when his fingers close around the bottle of mountain ash.


End file.
